Blown Away
by Wolf of Skadi
Summary: Reporting to the murder of a Major, the team finds the witness to be a victim of abuse who had issued a report with the Major just the day before. Her name? Lavi Gibbs. She is he cousin of Jethro Gibbs, who left a hospital the day she was orphaned and he was to adopt her. Jethro takes her in now, and must learn to be a father to a damaged and scarred girl. AU and Jibbs
1. Introduction- Breaking Point

**Disclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, nor do I own any character save my own original one. The plot is my own. **

**Warnings: Slightly graphic detail of abuse and murder, subjects of abuse and murder, and mentions of illnesses and war. **

_**The District of Columbia- Ravensblood Family Apartment's Kitchen - Five O'clock in the Afternoon**_

Numbness surrounded my body in a thick haze, as time itself seemed to have stopped. Silence filled the small flat, not even the traffic from downtown DC could be heard. It was neither hot nor cold in the room, rather a suffocating air which seemed to be coated with a layer of gas. Vaguely, I could feel my head throbbing against my skull and hear my breath coming in a heavy, exhausted pant more cat like than human. Even with a brand new pair of glasses, everything around me was blurry without defined shapes. Only when the cold metal from the baseball bat escaped my hand and thundered to the ground was I awakened from my haze. Blinking slightly, my eyes swept to the tile floors. The natural white now stained a sharp pink by blood, seeping into the broken cabinets. My bare knees were stuck down, while my hands reached out for the mass of red, pink, and white crumpled mass. Throwing a Silver Star medal weakly to behind me, my cold and shivering fingers came to wrap around a shattered wrist. Nothing came, as a soft sigh of relief escaped my cut lips. Pulling the fragments of bone out of my hair and arms, I slowly, shakily rose to my feet, in an impersonation all too close to a just born foal. Spitting a curling strand of flaming red hair out of my mouth, I stared down at the eye dangling from the broken face. All tendons had been destroyed, to the point nothing held it together safe for a piece of spine lodged into it from where the explosion had hit. Slipping slightly on the last shards of the grenade, I leaned against the white drywall, causing it to snag on the orange fray of my tank top. Staring at the fray instead of anything on the ground, I slowly let the numbness fade completely from me.

As I became aware of the thundering traffic, the heat blowing in from a fan placed in a corner, and the metallic almost chocking smell of blood, I realized I had to do something quickly. Without any real thoughts and no emotions coming to my already dead heart, I stripped off the plain leather gloves I wore, careful to flip them so no skin would contact anything. Throwing them into the already on oven, a slight pop came as they instantly melted. Turning off the oven with the limp, dead hand, I threw him back down with my shoes. With automatic movements, I took off each glow in the dark strap of the heels, throwing them into the oven with my teeth. While they melted slower than the gloves, my hands were already up to my teeth, undoing the veneers covering my natural teeth. Taking a small cotton ball out of my bra lining, I opened the blue-tinted mouth of the bloody mass, coating the veneers in the bloody spit. Throwing them onto the pile of rubber now completely melted down without even the heat being on, I gathered myself back up to my feet. Purposely skidding against the blood to create tracks of my bare feet, my hand reached out and took the black phone off the counter. With a now sure breath and a hand steady enough to hold a rifle, I grabbed the report I had filed yesterday. Director Sheppard's hand written number shining in bright pink ink. Dialing the number perfectly, a slight smirk came.

"This is Director Sheppard." The woman who I had spoken to yesterday answered.

"Yes, ma'am, this LJG, I brought you a report of child sexual abuse yesterday. Major Ravensblood, who is the one I accused of the crime is dead. I don't know how, he knocked me out with a beer bottle before chaining me to the wall. When I woke, he was being beaten by a masked, gloved man. I yelled in Hebrew and the man fled, calling me a terrorist. I need help." I stated, speaking monotone and calmly.

"Dead? Alright, LJ, I am coming right now with my team. I've sent the paramedics already and they should be there in a few minutes. Just stay calm, and do not touch anything." She instructed.

"I touched his wrist for a pulse, and tried to walk around to see if anyone else was here."

"That's good, thank you for clearing the property for us, so my agents will be safe."

Instructing me to stay on the line, she started to ask me questions over the scene itself, and I described everything I could in detail while rubbing my forehead to stop the throbbing. Which only sent my bruised, slightly protruded shoulder to ache more. Just as I finished giving her the details on the damage done to the kitchen, the sound of sirens came from the street nearby. Never before had I thought of an ambulance as being a savior, but at the moment it was. She hung up while I pulled heavily on the large, rusting, iron shackle attaching my bruised and throbbing ankle to the wall. Closing my eyes slightly, a large sigh escaped when the wooden door, already broken, was thrown to the ground. Opening them once again as the sound of footsteps came, I found ten cops, and two paramedics. Both young men obviously well off by the smell of their cologne matching an expensive variety. They came rushing over to me at once, the younger of the two, in his mid-twenties and not thirties as the other, started to press a cloth against the wound I had in my forehead.

"Sweetheart, do you hurt anywhere else?" He asked, his accent native here.

"My ankle is it." I answered, shaking the chain slightly to get his partner to turn to it.

As the older one pressed his fingers against it, a burning pain spread throughout my leg, working up to my hip. It burned as I someone had pressed needles heated to glowing red and pierced into every nerve ending by using a hammer. The pain itself did not reach my chest, but my first reaction was to suck in a hard breath. Combining this movement with the panting of earlier was disastrous at once, as my chest ached and my head lightened to an uncomfortable point. Shutting my eyes to keep the world from spinning at a noticeable rate, I waited as a tremble started deep in my muscles. My eyes seemed to be filled with cotton, as my body was covered in a layer of plastic wrap to dull my sense of touch. Spit gathered up around my lips as my head flipped violently back against the wall. Every muscle in my body tensed, before starting to flip as well. Slowly, I lost all control of myself, as I felt the darkness surround me. As a freefall into oblivion started, one thought crossed my mind. Maybe I should have told them I was epileptic.


	2. Briefest Glimpse to the Past

_**The District of Columbia- Ambulance in Parking Lot of the Apartment Building- Six O'clock at Night **_

Clutching the small plastic basin smelling of antiseptic and the cologne of the paramedics, I swallowed down another wave of nausea. My body was aching in all areas with a fury, as if an old Harley had fallen on top of me. Every movement sent a wave of pain up into my head, causing it to the throb as my vision spotted with black dots, and my stomach churned. The aches were not helped by the large brace around my ankle, nor the butterfly bandage clip pulling my skin slightly around the cut on my brow. Both would need to stay on for a while, and they were there to aid me, making me see no real reason to complain anymore, and settled for staring at the empty basin. Laying back against the board-like gurney had made the pain slightly worse by having my hip replacement, on the same leg as the broken ankle, settle in an odd way. Causing me to sit back against one of the paramedic benches lining either side of the ambulance. The white, human created cloth covering the seat made my Daisy-Duke covered legs to stick to the, but in a slightly better way than the blood had caused my knees to stick to the floor. Over all, this was more comfortable than dancing on a pole in that horrid house.

Shivering slightly at the thought, I looked to the clock. An hour had passed since my seizure, and I was actually feeling better than normal after one. It usually took me a nap three hours long to be able to even sit up without crying in the pain. Now, it only caused a wince and my nap had been only half an hour long. During that time, the paramedics had set my ankle for me, since an ER doctor had come to the scene by Director Sheppard's request since she knew I had traumatic brain injury from a few years ago. A car accident which killed my mother and father and left me to be adopted by Major Ravensblood. The damage to my brain was severe enough to trigger the epilepsy, and complete amnesia. I did not remember my parents, the accident itself, or anything in the hospital after. And I still had issues with memorizing things, hence me having to grab the phone number I had just looked over last night. Major Ravensblood had abducted me from the hospital I was recovering at before my cousin, Jethro, who gave me his name for my middle name, was going to adopt me. Jethro was killed in an explosion a few years ago, having worked at NCIS. Last night actually was the anniversary of his death, the same day I called Sheppard about the abuse, which stripping counted as. I had enough, and decided that day was the best to do it. But, now, the file was irrelevant. My only worry at the moment was where the hell I was going.

As the question passed over my mind, and I ducked my head to my knees to stop the nausea coming back up, two black government vehicles pulled up to the scene. With the back doors to the ambulance open completely, I could tell that they were both burning rubber as they came to a stop. What type of fed would drive as I do normally? Jethro. He had apparently done so, from everything I had heard about him from the people Major actually let me speak to. A slight sigh came at the thought of him and what could have been. There was no reason to dwell upon it though, I reminded myself, and now was the time to focus to see what would happen now. Looking up as my stomach settled for the second, I saw three agents, all middle aged or slightly younger, step out of the second car. One was wearing an expensive Italian suit, and had his dark hair combed in a slightly messy way. Beside him was a slightly rounded man with a boyish face, wearing a very plain suit of a lesser quality than the other. Walking beside both of them was a woman with the same olive tone to her skin as I had, and had brown hair pulled back with a scarf. She wore a Star of David around her neck, making me wonder if she was from Israel as well. For her to be an agent though, she would have to be an American citizen. They all looked to the flat building at first, before turning to me.

Just as they started to come over, two people got out of the second car. They were slightly older, and I recognized one at once. In a bright pink trench coat with deep ruby hair was Director Sheppard. She was carrying my file and walking rather quickly in her red heels, while someone else walked beside her. This one was an older man, with silver hair. He walked in a way that told me he had a firearm on his waist, and had the build of a soldier. A marine, they were so easy to spot that I could tell he was one. Holding a coffee cup in one hand, he looked over the file Sheppard held out for him.

"Miss Gibbs, the NCIS agents want to speak with you. Do you feel up to it?" The younger of the paramedics asked, whose name I found out was Michael.

"Thank you for telling me. May I have a drink of water?" I asked, my accent thick now.

Handing me a bottle, he adjusted the shock blanket around my shoulders. The temperature had dropped with the sun setting and my clothing was still the shorts and the skimpy bra I was wearing earlier. When I took a sip of the cold water, my stomach settled enough for me to set down the basin. Looking up afterward, I found the agents walking over to me. At the helm was the silver haired man, who I guessed was the leader of them. The paramedics explained I had abdominal epilepsy and that I could go into another attack if I was too stressed. He nodded and called the others off, before coming up to me with the file. Taking off his gun from his belt, he put it into his waistband. Why was he . . . oh? I had actually mentioned to Director Sheppard I had been pistol whipped a few times by the Major. This agent was just using common sense to calm me down. That's nice of him.

However, I did not have any time to watch him walk over, as my stomach suddenly went into knots. Grabbing the basin, I lowered my head to my knees as I began to vomit up what little water I had been able to keep down. A moment passed in which I focused only on trying to keep myself from choking on the foam coming up my mouth, but I soon realized there was a soft but worn hand rubbing my back. Soothing little circles, while his thumb trained against my defined shoulder blades. As the last gage wore off, the water bottle was given to me. Quickly washing out my mouth and spitting the water back into the now full basin. I slowly looked up. To be greeted by the agent who was coming to me. He was holding onto my back while the paramedics inserted a needle into my arm to give me more fluids. When they finished, he gently guided me to lay down on the bench with the double- injured leg balancing on his coat he had balled up for me. Once he sat down across from me, I could take in his full appearance. But, I never looked past his eyes.

Blue. Not the sapphire blue of contacts, and not the greyish blue normal eyes were. These were a deep color of blue, almost as if someone had taken colored pencils in sky blue, baby blue, and navy blue and combined them together. They reflected slightly white off of the light in the ambulance, while they softened when they noticed me looking. Looking at them gave me the same feeling I got looking at an unmade bed. As if I could just lay down and relax, I would be safe. There was also a shadow to them, almost ice shards gathered just below the surface. He was upset, but was not trying to show it to me. I wondered why at first, until he reached out and gently took my hand in both of his. Cradling my hand, he leaned forward while I was laying comfortably. It was a simple movement, something anyone with any drive to protect a child did. At first, there was just the warm of having someone near that really cared for me, but it was soon replaced by the feeling I was forgetting something important. Like a name, a place, or a weapon. There was only one way to really solve it, I knew from practice, and closed my eyes to start a meditation. Normally, it took hours for me to come up with nothing, but now it was seconds.

Underneath me, I felt the cold metal and wooden like surface of a hospital bed, with a slight tilt at a comfortable angle to keep me propped up. A thick, hard pillow was under my head while something puffy, bandages I somehow knew instinctually, covered my head and chin. Itchy and thin hospital pajamas covered my shivering body, while a slightly used white blanket covered me. The room was pure white and furnished with plastic wood furniture in the form of a table and chairs. Three windows went out from the white wall to a beautiful forest bright green while it rained. Nearby, I could see a water tower, while a picture of a coal mine was hanging on the wall across from the bed where a TV would be in a normal room.

_This room was no normal. It was too big, everything nearly doubled in size, and I couldn't feel anything else. My body seemed to be surrounded by casts, but I could only feel my head. Turning my head, I found a needle in my arm and probes on my chest. Why couldn't I feel anything? I could vaguely identify having asked the question in this place, but I couldn't quite place it. That was until I twisted my head again. And a strand of pure brown hair fell into my face. I had brown hair for years, but it darkened_ _to the flame red as I got older. This was a hospital I had to have stayed in before I was ten. Was this something that happened with my birth parents? Just something no one told me about? _

_ My questions were answered when a rather large doctor entered the room with a smile I would have found comforting when I was younger, but more annoying now. Wearing bright scrubs, he wore a nametag with the name B. Pitt on it, and also the term Intern. He was talking in a muffled voice I couldn't quite hear because he was too far away and the bandages on my head were too tight. Vaguely, I could feel myself moving to stop the muffling, until the door opened. Someone else walked in, someone I recognized at once. The agent who had come to get me. But, my younger self didn't see it that way. Instead, I felt my body go still, and a grin come. _

_ "Jethro!" My sharp but sweet younger voice cried out, though slurred._

_ "Hey, my sweetheart little kitten. Pitt says you're doing better today, you remembered how to use a pencil." He said, coming over to sit by the bed._

_ The same hand which held me in present day, held me right now. Stroking my cheek, he smiled softly. His hair was brown, with just a few shades of grey forming in it. Gently, he pressed a kiss to my brow as I beamed. Chuckling sadly, he looked at the needle in my arm slightly. I felt myself getting upset seeing him upset, and reached with a little chubby, but bruised and bleeding hand to take his own. _

_ "It was fun, cousin. Learning how to write." I heard myself say._

_ "Good job, kitty. When we go home, you can write and draw as much as you want." He answered, looking back at my face instead of my injuries. _

Darkness slowly started to lift, as I found myself replaying the memories of my time with Major. But, none of it mattered. The numbness had returned to my body, but this time, it was not in shock. Joy rose in my chest, as I heard the little peacock in my heart singing a song of hope. Jethro. My adopted father, was directly in front of me. It was unbelievable, and I found myself gripping at his hand for dear life, in the hopes he would keep it there. Was it a dream? Would I wake up to find he was still dead? Wait, he wasn't dead for sure. They said he most likely perished. But, we Gibbs never gave up that easy. My father was one and I knew how stubborn he was. It was possible he was alive, since the man I had spoken to had been fired from NCIS just after the incident. There was really only one way, I thought to myself, as I felt myself getting giddy for the first time in years. Opening my eyes very slowly, I found Jethro still sitting beside me. Only this time with a look of pure worry over something; me.

"Do you want me to get a paramedic, you seem to be getting worse, paler?" He asked, softly.

"Jethro, all I really want at this moment is you." I answered, my voice quivering slightly.

"What is your middle name, Lavi?" He asked.

"Jethra."

Sitting as still as humanly possible, his hands clamped firmly around mine. The air became so thick I doubted a gun, knife, or nuke could get through it at all. Leaving me to chock for breath and silently pray he would not be mad. This was the worse way for him to see me. He had last seen me as an innocent little kid. Something I definitely wasn't anymore. I had lost my innocence the day I became a Ravensblood, in the sense of my mind and my body. Would he still accept me into his arms as he had before? Tensing when he moved slightly, I felt a tremor rise in my hand. I needed to stay calm, I tried to tell myself, as my stomach went into knots. After a few more moments, there was nothing I could do but turn my head and grip at a new basin, starting to vomit once more. This time it was just a few gags before I laid back exhausted. Which seemed to bring Jethro out of the trance, by causing him to blink at me. My mind instantly filled with images of him beating me, shooting me, or arresting me.

Only to have him look at my eyes closely, before throwing his arms around my sore body and pulling me to be cradled in his strong chest. He hadn't changed from my flashback at all, and I found myself nuzzling into him as if I was a child once again. All fear I had vanished, and I felt as if a warmed blanket was wrapped around me with a pit bull laying on my lap. That was my version of safety. And I only felt it twice in my life. Now was one of those moments and I couldn't have been happier with it.

"Where the hell have you been, my kitty?" He asked, his chest vibrating as he spoke.

"They took me away and brought me here as a sex slave. I thought you died in an explosion." I replied, as I gripped at his jacket, shirt, and full body with both of my hands.

Rubbing my back, he parted just enough to look closely at me. Holding onto both of my hand with one of his, he used the other to gently cup my cheek. With his thumb, he cleared the blood from my broken lip and the cut on my forehead before pressing a kiss to my brow. I smiled faintly, feeling a connection to him just from that one flashback, and the stories my baby book told me about him. I knew he had been the one to teach me to swim, the one to care for me when I was sick, and he took me to work with him once to meet his crew. And he was the one who taught me woodworking. Something I picked up after the accident to honor his memory. His body smelled of wood, making me think he kept up the hobby. Smiling at me, he ran his hand under my glasses.

"No, baby, I wasn't killed. I was hit in the head and had amnesia. Which my team helped me get out of. I thought they had killed you in Mexico. After the explosion, I retired for a few months and went to search for you. Came up with dead ends and just your bracelet." He answered.

Rolling up his sleeve, he let me see the worn silver of a medical ID, the one I had been told he gave me when I was diagnosed with epilepsy. The engraving had been worn out long ago, but he still wore it as if it was a badge. A faint blush came to my cheeks, as I realized he had a few beads on it. That belonged to a necklace I saw Kelly, his daughter who died before me being born. He held me in the same respect he did Kelly? It brought a slight pain to my heart, causing me to nuzzle him in hope to stay.

"I don't . . . I don't remember you fully. I just had a flashback of you coming into my hospital after I learned to write again. I'm sorry." I mumbled.

"No one really expected you to remember anything. You weren't supposed to live, and I thought you had died in Mexico. Tiger, it doesn't matter to me. I just came from work to find my little cousin, my daughter on paper, at the scene of a murder and dressed as a stripper. Jen, Director Sheppard, who is my fiancé, showed me the papers." He said, his voice gaining a dangerous edge to the end of it.

"What? You don't care I was a stripper? Or that I can't remember you?" I asked.

"Lavi, on your father's death bed, I made a promise. To love you no matter what as if you were my own. I know if this happened to Kelly or any of my team members, I would not care. And I sure as hell don't care now. You're still my kitten. Just with a few scars we can work out together." He promised.

Suddenly, tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not tears of fear or pain, but of love and joy. A smile stretched across my mouth, making not only my lips hurt, but my entire face. Relaxing completely even with the cast on, I threw my arms back around his neck. He hugged me again, running his fingers through my hair to get the mats out. While I soaked in the love and warmth I had never really gotten before, his hand worked down to my neck, and gently spun my pendant. It was a Star of David, marking me as a Jew, since that was what I really was. Kissing my neck in the area of it, he brought it around to the front of my chest. Before gently putting his jacket over my shoulders.

"What's going to happen to me?" I softly asked, muffled by his shirt and arms.

"The way you were supposed to live before that bastard destroyed my little baby. I'm taking you home with me, and my fiancé. If you don't mind, of course." He said.

"Not at all. I just want to get out of here. Get out of the blood and cold." I answered.

Parting again, he gently brushed a hair out of my face. I knew I would not truly believe this was real for a few days, but for now, I was happy if it was just a fantasy. The pain of my bones and the empty part of my stomach made me accept any comfort. I just wanted a shower and a decent meal, and was willing to take it from anyone. But, having it from Jethro, and the promise of a home, was amazing. There were no real words to describe what was going through my heart, save one; hope. Everything else was just chatter I could easily ignore. Especially when he gently lifted me up by my arms to rest on his hip. This was a benefit to being five foot five and severely underweight. I could be held like this, but never had save with him now. And I was perfectly okay with that.

"Do you feel okay for me to carry you back to my car? My SFA, or oldest son, Tony, has a stash of food in his car we can track open up." He asked, as he stood up in the ambulance.

Nodding, and grinning at the prospect of getting food and spending more time with him, I laid into him. As he started to move, and instinct rose and I threw my legs around his waist while holding onto his neck. He didn't resist me at all, actually holding me closer. It was a little foolish, I would realize looking back on this day, to give into someone this quickly. But, after a day as this, sometimes my brain just leaves and my heart takes over. Besides, no one in my family ever hurt one another. Not with pain, just with words. And I doubted he would, by the way he had acted before we even met. He had been kind enough to try to make a stranger comfortable, without ever knowing who I was. Making me think that was default. There was a little part of me who didn't think it would be a good idea to follow him, but it was vanishing as he stepped out of the ambulance with me.

"Jethro, is it alright to call you Abba?" I asked, forgetting myself for a moment.

"You did before. It was the first word you said to me." He answered, kissing my ear slightly.

It was not condemning rather, just stating a fact. Of course, I was upset over it, but the tighter hug and soft kisses I was getting made up for it enough to push it to be the back of my mind. I knew any quiet moment, I would be thinking up a million possibilities of horrendous things he could do to me, but for now, food kept those thoughts at bay. He led me past the tape before I heard someone coming up. Turning slightly with my head on his chest, I found the other agents, all watching us curiously.

"DiNozzo, unlock your care." Abba suddenly ordered, causing me to flinch slightly, "Sorry, kitty. I don't know if yelling affects you."

"Major always ordered me around. Is it alright for me to not want to be?" I asked.

"I'll just be quieter, unless it is life or death, then I will order you. Come on, let's get you comfy." He stated, as he brought me to sit in the opened car.

Setting me down carefully in the seat, he propped my foot up on the concrete. Reaching under the seat beside me, he brought out a bag of food. Undoing it, he found a box of falafel and gave it to me with a clean fork for me to use. He knew I was still Kosher? Or did he guess since that was how I was supposedly raised? I knew it was the second, but it didn't matter, I was touched by the fact he remembered that little detail about me. As I started to munch happily, he had a wash cloth and a water bottle to clean the blood off. Getting the layer of gunk off felt wondrous and I found myself leaning into his touch. That was until footsteps came.

"Jethro, child services are here to claim . . ." Director Sheppard started.

"Abba! Please, don't let them take me away from you." I started to sob heavily, seeing the group of people who were gathering to take me away.

My chest started to constrict, causing me to hyperventilate. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I cried into my knees. It was too good to be true, someone had to take him away from me. All my life, my only real desire was for Jethro to be alive, for my Abba to still be alive to claim me. And now, some government wanted me to leave. Images of me in a foster home, or the type of room they used to evaluate children's mental status flashed in my eyes. I had been in one once, during an investigation of the Major, and I hated it. They stereotyped me and tried to admit me to a mental hospital for my life. At any thought of being placed in one of those areas, I started to crawl into myself. Only to have two arms wrap around me and hug me. Abba?  
"I'm right, kitten, I'm not leaving you ever again." He swore.

"Agent Gibbs, unless you know her father . . ." An officer sneered.

"I am her adopted father. She was taken into a sex ring years ago, from the hospital she was staying at after she was orphaned, after my brother was killed. I have the documents at my house, and I have the last will of my brother marking me to take her in. Now, if you don't mind, leave before she has a seizure." He growled out, before lowering his tone and facing me, "Come on baby girl, stop crying. Sh."

"Don't leave!" I sobbed, but somehow, I knew deep down, in my heart, he never would.

* * *

**Author Note Number One:** This is the end of the Tuesday updates, and the end of the first chapter. I will be updating this story every Tuesday or Wednesday with at least one chapter. Please be aware it will get darker at some parts and lighter at others. I know it is moving rather quickly with how fast she is trusting Gibbs, but it will slow down and she will show some affect of what happened to her. And the mystery of who killed Major Ravensblood will be solved. Thank you all for reading.


	3. Another Familiar Face

Crowds were never something I dealt well with, probably due to the fact the only time I was around more than one person was when the Major invited his buddies over and they wanted a show. It was never a pleasant thing for me, leading me most often to having to lap dance. Now was no different for me. My senses, the ones trained to be a fighter, were telling me I was curled up in the leather of the car, my knees up to my chin and my head buried into them, while my arms were wrapped around the cold skin. I could feel Abba beside me while he gently stroked my back. However, my mind was slowly going limp as my memories came flooding back. As the car vanished form my mind, I felt myself wrapped around a pole, my leg chained to the flimsy stage while chills took over my body. I could feel the lace covering me once again, and the heels being ridiculously high. The room was lit with a blue light, reflecting off of the eyes of the people surrounding me and cat calling, turning them an eerie white. A cracking came, the sound of a whip. The air around me shifted and I knew I had to pull myself up and try to ignore the pain coursing through my stomach and thighs at the moment. However, I couldn't. It felt as if something heavy was holding me down. Major stepped into view, his nearly nude body more threatening than anything else in the world. When he raised the whip, it took everything I had not to cry out in completely pain.

"Lavi!" A voice suddenly shouted, which was oddly female, "Āpani āra sēkhānē nē'i, bartamānē phirē āsā." _You are not there anymore, come back to the present._ It took me a moment to realize the language was Bengali, something I had picked up during a trip with my now late cousin, Jackson Jethro. He was nineteen then, and we learned the language together to try to stay alive there. No one spoke it at the Major's, and it caused me to shift slightly in confusion. "Āpani yadi samparkē śunatē pārachi nā, āmāra hātē nitē. Plija." _If you can hear me, take my hand. Please. _

Hand what hand? As I focused on the question, I noticed my surroundings start to fade. After a few moments, I could vaguely feet a soft hand running against my cheek with a palm upright. It was soft and very maternal feeling, to the point I realized into it. Gathering up my strength, I reached up with a shaking hand and gripped where I thought the warmth was. I could not see anything at all, but somehow, I could tell someone was kneeling beside me. The hand closed around mind gently, bringing it down to my lap before soft lips pressed against my brow as if checking for fever.

A switch seemed to be pulled in my mind, as the scene suddenly vanished from me and I became aware of sitting in the car again. My head was throbbing, and my stomach back in knots, but the pain from the whip was gone. Damn. It was another flashback. Taking a moment, I slowly opened my eyes. To be greeted by the woman I had seen coming to the crime with a Star of David around her neck. Her darkened brown eyes were soft as she looked at me closely, as if making sure another flashback did not come on. Turning slightly to look for Abba, I found he was talking to the Social Services with my paperwork in front of him. I felt sorry for them in some aspect, but I turned my attention to the woman.

"Who are you? I know you work for Abba, if he let you this close to me without a gun at your throat." I asked, causing her to smile at me.

"My name is Ziva David, or Ziver as your Abba calls me. I'm one of his agents, and I used to be in Mossad. He thought you would respond to Hebrew or Arabic, so I tried it. How do you know Bengali?"

She was trying to get me to calm down, it was a technique all agents in the Middle East were taught, to distract people who came from bombings. Shifting slightly in the chair, I grabbed a hair band out of my bra and started to put back my hair. A way for me to calm myself down. The other came next. She was Mossad, meaning she was probably Jewish, judging by the Star, she was definitely one. Meaning I found it safe for me to pray. Dipping my head slightly to my knees to prevent the nausea coming back up, I started to mumble in Hebrew. Almost at once, Ziva bent down as well, asking for the aid to heal me as I was for protection from the horrors I had seen in my life. As I finished, I felt comforted again and started to calm enough to be coherent. Looking up at Ziva, she smiled at me.

"I did not know you were Jewish. The report did not mention it." She stated.

"You saw the report?" I asked.

"Jenny tried to keep us from finding out about it, but I found it when she answered your call. I have not told anyone at all about it, nor will I unless you want for me to." She answered, soothing me.

Nodding with an appreciative smile, my hand came to take a water bottle she had at her feet, without really thinking about it. She was a trained killer, but I knew she wouldn't harm me. We worked for the same people at one point, and we believed we were the same kin, due to our religion. It was nice to have someone here that not only Abba trusted, but also knew what I had gone through in my homeland. Taking a small sip, I found my stomach settled again.

"Ziva! We need your translating skills." A man suddenly called out, getting us to turn.

What was his name? Ditz-o? No, it had an n in it. Never mind, I groaned to myself, while leaning against the seat. He came jogging over with a camera in his hands, casting a look at me. Suddenly, his entire expression turned to be soft and comforting, before slinking off his coat to put it around my shoulders. I had thrown Abba's off when I had the flashback, leaving me freezing again. Pushing it down, he kneeled beside me.

"Tiger, is it alright if Ziva leaves to the apartment? I'll stay right here." He asked.

"Tony, what do I need to translate?" Ziva asked.

"He left coded messages in Italian and Slovakian on the wall of the fourth and smallest bedroom, in blood. The blood is mine, taken about three years ago. I can't speak it or translate it, but he said it may be what saves a whore like me from something worse than death. I couldn't understand what he meant by that. The door to the room is trapped with a single pellet in the doorknob if any type of bronze, such as a Star touches it. The pellet is loaded with arsenic and mercury, like the Bulgarian spy who began working with the CIA was poisoned with during the Cold War with that umbrella." I answered, knowing at once what they were talking about and how hard it was to work.

"I remember the case. Thank you." She replied, standing up and kissing my hair before leaving.

Turning nervously to the other, I blushed slightly seeing him watching me. Why the hell did he remind me of Jackson Jethro? He had the same laid back quality to him. The mask of a complete fool, but with a layer of pain directly underneath it. My instincts were screaming at me to trust this man. He would lay down his life for me. But, how did I know that? Looking closely at his eyes, I realized they looked oddly familiar. Just a hazy color. That was until he placed his hand on my knee and it all came back. He had been one of the ones to visit me in the hospital as I healed. Abba had called him Probie when he came in, and slapped him on the head. He had sat down beside me while Abba fed me, and talked about his favorite movies, as I told him about what I had watched there. I remembered the way he would joke, but always had a way to be concerned. I called him Al in my mind, since somehow I knew he was Italian. That couldn't be his name though, Ziva had called him Tony.

"Probie?" I asked, being unsure what real name to call him by.

"I haven't been called that in a while, Lavi. Do you remember me?" He asked, softly.

"You like Aladdin."

That was all I could really remember about our conversation, he liked Aladdin because of the Tiger in it, which was the reason why I loved it, or did now. I had no idea if it really happened, as my memories were sometimes messed up with children's stories or even past fairy tales I had been read at some time in my life. I had never really read any after being kidnapped, so I didn't know what really was true or fake. I tensed, as he went still for a moment, before he laughed.

"Of all the things for you to remember about me, that is it? You're too much like me for your own good, kitty. Yep. I was at the hospital with Boss when I was first hired. He wanted me to talk to you since I was the youngest on the team. You laughed at my Baltimore accent, called me a gangster because of my name, and you liked to cuddle in my lap. You also hated what I dressed like and suggested I should wear a suit and tie." He answered.

Staring down at my lap, I realized he probably thought I had just lost my mind.

"I'm sorry, I don't rem . . ." I started to tell him, very softly.

"I know you don't remember that much about the accident. You had severe brain injury and even swelling in your brain. The doctors told even me you would likely forget the months you were in the hospital. It doesn't matter to either Jethro or me, kitten, we just want to help. As long as you know I was your friend and you can trust me, that's all I care about. We can fill in the gaps later." He answered.

"You don't care that I can't even remember your name? I remembered you slightly, and started calling you after Al Capone, since I think you told me you were Italian." I squeaked.

"Al? Nice name for me, better than the initials ADD I have now. My name is Tony Demetri DiNozzo. I know you have bad short term memory. What will help you remember it?"

"Nothing that I can think of. Normally, I just try to associate object with people. The Star with Ziva, and now the bubble gum pink trench coat for Director Sheppard. I don't know what to use."

"How about this?"

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small silver ring with the name DiNozzo written on it, as well as an Italian motto on it. In the middle was an old crest, obviously a family ring. Taking it carefully in both hands, I realized it almost was exactly the same to my father's, the Gibbs, military ring in terms of weight and coloring. That would make it easy to remember. Nodding, I handed it back to him, to have him slide it on his finger. Ring equaled Tony DiNozzo. With that repeating in my mind, I turned my attention fully to him. To find he had turned to watch Abba and Director Sheppard as they yelled at the Social Service workers, and seemed to have hands on weapons. Stroking my hair gently, Tony turned back to me while they started to yell again.

"Kitty, you are coming home with us, if it means I have to kidnap you." He stated.

"I know that much. But, what if something happens? Tony, I have people who would want me to be their whore than they would want me to get a home." I asked.

"Then you'll see I'm very much your father's SFA." He responded, a deadly tone coming on.

Nodding, I turned back to my water. Sipping at it slowly, I let him gently start to braid my wild hair back out of the way. After a few moments, we noticed we were being watched. By Abba and the others. All had eyes trained on us as if they were expecting a dance or show. Tensing slightly, I waited for someone to toss money, instead, the agents nodded and Abba gathered up the paperwork. Walking slowly back over to us, he nodded at Tony, who smiled at me.

"Hope you don't mind sharing your room tonight, she's going to need a bed." He brought up.

"A bed?" I asked, completely unfamiliar with the term used outside of a hospital.

"Yes, Tiger, you get a bed, and once we get the room cleaned up that stores our crap, you get your own room too. No more bathroom floor." Tony answered.

"Bathroom floor?" Abba asked, touching my cheek with his hand.

"I was forced to stay on one, since I have so many seizures. He didn't want to wash off my spite from the ground, and it was easier for me to cool down before a show." I mumbled.

"No one is ever going to force you to do that again, Lavi. Come on, let's get you home and set up. You'll need a shower and a decent meal, with that leg you're going to be resting too." He replied.

At the prospect of getting a shower without having to do a shower covered in honey dust, I smiled and easily slid into the car fully. My ankle was starting to throb, and I had the feeling it was worse than the paramedics had let on, and the meds they gave me were wearing off. I would likely sleep for a while, with my seizure leaving me exhausted for days, Both got into the car with me, Abba up front and Tony in the back. As he drove back, Tony started to play with my hair through the seat.

"I'm going to go shopping when we get you home. Food for you to take, and maybe some things. Any particular color your favorite?" He asked.

"Orange." I responded, slightly confused, "Why do you want to know?"

"You've got nothing, absolutely nothing but what is on you. And no one should be wearing what you are. I'm going to just buy you a few things. What, I have no clue."

"A blanket, a stuffed toy, clothing, and activities since she is bedridden." Abba answered.

"Bedridden, Abba why am I bedridden?" I asked, clutching at the door handle as he made a turn.

"You had a head wound, when you've had a traumatic brain injury. I called the doctor who treated me after the explosion and explained what happened. It's safer if you stay in bed until we see how it is affecting you." He answered.

"It's alright, Lion, we'll spend most of the day spoiling you. Well, he will, since I'll be working the case. All you've got to worry about is healing and getting comfortable. That's it." Tony brought up.

"But, I have to work somehow. I can't just live for free." I protested.

"Lavi, I don't have to work to live with him. I stay when I'm sick. He took me in when I had the plague of all things, and didn't expect me to do anything. Besides, you are his daughter now."

Sighing softly at the feeling of helplessness, I laid my head against the cold glass. I loved the idea of staying in bed all day, but I hated the idea of other people waiting on me. Since it never happened while I could remember. They could use me, I thought, and I wouldn't be able to fight back. Reaching down to scratch the cast that was itching, I got a hand over mine. Abba was driving with one hand.

"Don't. We'll take off the cast and let you go without it for a little while after you shower. There is nothing to worry about. I'll just be working on cold cases while you rest up, in the same room, but I won't touch you unless you want me to." He said.

"It's not that I'm worried about. It's just that I never have had the chance to be spoiled."

We lapsed into silence after that, me trying to understand exactly what would happen, and them trying to figure out what had happened to me. Leaning against the window of the car, I felt a hand close around my knee. Abba looked gently over, and I knew at once what he was thinking. Everything would change for me and it would take a lot to adapt to, but he would be there next to me. Clutching his hand, I found myself relaxing slightly. Tony gently rested his feet on the back of the seat, letting me feel the warmth of his shoes. Yes, this transition was going to be hard; it already was, but there were no other people I wanted there to support me than Abba and Tony.

* * *

**Author Note;** One chapter is all I can update this Tuesday, since the next chapter is taking a lot of research to actually get the facts correct on. I decided to have Tony be the other person she remembers since it steps up a very cute bond I have planned between the two. And also because I think Tony really doesn't need to be the Butt Monkey the show has turned him into . He needs more of a mature drive with someone, and Kat just seemed to fit perfectly. On the last note, the language translated was down on Google Translate, so I cannot guarantee is it correct, just to warn you.


	4. Covering the Tracks

As we pulled up to the house, I found I had to clamp my hand over my mouth while biting my tongue to keep from saying anything about the magnificence of the house. I was expecting one of the mini mansions which seemed to be found in suburbs with a lot of soccer moms {such as Utah, Connecticut, and California}. Instead, there was a quaint two story house with a fence and a small yard. A garden was up front with a few trees which had one with a wooden swing, and there was a door going down to a garage, or maybe it was to a basement. It was so quaint though, looking to be old to some degree but well kept. Sort of like Abba himself. The magnificence came by how understated it really was. I loved it, this was the house type I often dreamed up when I was trying to ignore sickness because it was not too flashing and it was down to earth enough for me to feel as if I belonged. Most hesitance I had about coming here vanished, though the bedridden aspect was still worrying to me. However, no real worries came to my mind as Abba had opened the door already and was offering his hand to help me up. Tony handed me a pair of crutches before going to the trunk to grab two bags out of the back. Both started to the door very carefully, waiting patiently for me to come up to the door.

Trembling slightly as memories of the apartment I had just left came swirling back to my mind with a force, I started to limp up to the door. Abba and Tony both came to either side, offering to hold my back for some support. Whether it was physical or mental, I could not be sure, but it was helpful in fighting off the disturbing memories. Though logically, I knew they would never hurt me, I couldn't help but wonder. My eyes went slightly to the mark on my arm, barely noticeable underneath the make up, but I knew it was there, offering me some strength. Taking a deep breath while focusing on the image, I let myself lean on both for support. Leading me to the door, they unlocked it before gently pushing my back to get me to enter. Waiting for Abba to turn on a light since my night vision was poor as could be, I found I had to clamp my mouth again at the sight.

This was the complete opposite of the hell hole I had been living in for years. The first thing which came to my mind was how cozy it was. Not the wide open I had been under in that apartment. There was enough room to walk around, or more, but it felt closed off. A large sectional was pushed against the furthest wall and that corner, directly across from the doorway we were standing in. Closed, was a large window directly over the back of the corner of the sofa. Beside that was a few bookcases stacked with books. There was no TV in the room, something I was more than thankful for with my epilepsy. A large table was in the middle of the room, with a shelf or two off to the side of the wall, then another table. This one with a flag on top. Jethro was a vet of Kuwait, I realized. Holding onto my arm when I saw the flag, I turned only when Tony's soft hand came to my back.

"You weren't hurt were you?" He asked looking at my arm.

"It's a habit when I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"Why am I nervous or why do I do that?"

Shrugging, he led me to sit on the sofa while I heard Abba moving around in the kitchen. Grabbing a tissue off the table, I rubbed it over my arm, to reveal the ink I had. From my shoulder down to my elbow. Tony gasped slightly seeing it, as I just nodded. It was nothing much, pure black and from a distance looked to be a hand and arm. But, up close, it was more. People, all only piles of skin and bones while being completely nude. The bottom was made out of corpses, while some stretched up the outward hand, clutching to the fingers. This was the monument found at the Holocaust Center, the exact same. Only mine was slightly changed to have barb wire at the top and bottom, with Arabic written across it. _**Never forget and always be loyal. Never let them fall.**_ Never forget the advent that took my great-grandma away and nearly destroyed my grandma. Both were relatives of my mother, her mother and grandmother, both Jewish, and both in Poland at the time on vacation though they were Israeli. I converted hearing the story of how it happened. I got this upon hearing it, for some comfort.

"I've seen that before." He quietly said, staring at it.

"Miami Holocaust Memorial. This is in the center with the names of all killed."

"Why do you have this on your arm?"

"Tony, my grandma was sent to Auschwitz. My great-grandma was killed at Chelmno. All because they were Jews traveling in Poland when those monsters came. Even though they were Israeli citizens, they were arrested and sent there. After the ghetto life. I come from that, I remember my grandma talking to about it at the monument and telling me about being sorted. About the SS coming after her, and about having to act as if she was not about to fall over from exhaustion and hunger. That was what I grew up with, what she did. She was only six at the time." Tears were already misting over my eyes as I thought, and I found myself swallowing hard. He sighed deeply before gently touching the area. "When I get nervous, I just gravitate to it. As a sign I can push through no matter what, as they did."

"I don't know what Chelmno is."

"An extermination camp in Poland. Two or three people survived it, but no one knows for sure if it was more than one to actually survive." A familiar voice said from the doorway.

Ziva was standing against the door with a lock pick in her hands, and a sad look in her eyes. She had a few bags by her feet and picked them up. Walking over and sitting on my other side, she too looked at the mark. Her Star was still around her neck, and I noticed her hand move up to it.

"Why the huge death toll?" Tony softly asked.

"Gas vans. They would load people in, mess with the exhaust, and kill them. Or shoot them in the skull if they survived. My great grandmother was one to get both. She was shot in the head as well. The bodies were taken to be burned by fifteen other prisoners, after the smells got too bad for them to handle. Which makes it so no one really knows for sure how many were there." I replied, bitterly.

"They used . . . why?"

"Do you want the politically correct answer or the one my grandma gave me?"

"The one she gave you."

"Because the Nazis were weak fuckers without backbones who have no sense of human worth and are too chicken-shit to just stab us."

"She told you that?"

"Sounds as if your grandmother was an impressive woman." Ziva stated.

"Always was, had to be. She worked at Shin Bet, as every member of my family did. The camp was nothing for her to handle. Including spitting the faces of a few guards, and castrating one of them. The Americans, not the Gibbs that was my mother who married into them, were terrified of her to the point some just ran. Rather funny, considering she was only ten."

Giggling softly at that, though it was not very funny, I peered into the bags Ziva had brought. To find clothing. She smiled and lifted the bags onto the table. Taking out several pairs of cargo pants, blouses which were rather too frilly for her, but perfect for my style tastes, and even a few pairs of thick combat boots, she grabbed the other bag to show to me they were all brand new, still in the packages, other things I would need. All covered with cat prints, a dress, underwear, swimwear, and what I thought was a leopard-print trench coat with a red interior.

"You're about my size in clothing, so I took some of my own for you to use here. The weather is crazy compared to home." She explained, "These should work to keep you comfortable."

"How did you manage to get these if we just figured out she was coming?" Tony asked.

"Never doubt a woman, Tony, never."

She had found my file. That was how, I knew. She had figured out I would have been trying to flee, and probably had enough contacts in Israel to figure out just how I was raised in our country while I was on the run from the Major. It would not be hard for her to put together the pieces I would easily run if anything turned up for the case and run to find my cousin's old team. I had listed in the report, I would go anywhere with anyone as long as Abba had worked with them. She actually had planned for me to run in one day. Even if she didn't know my size, she probably knew I would have taken anything.

"Thank you, Ziva." I responded, letting only her see the hidden meaning in my words.

"You said you converted to Judaism, you weren't raised in it?" She asked, smiling at me.

"I don't remember what I was raised under. The only reason I even met my grandmother was the fact she had enough pull in Israel to threaten the Major with torture if I wasn't allowed to be with them for a year. That was a few years ago. I haven't officially converted yet, and I don't know everything yet, but I just try to follow what little she laid down for me to do before she passed." I softly answered.

Ruffling my hair to break me of the bad mood that had already started to descend on me, Tony stood up with the idea of going to get the bed ready. I had the sneaking suspicion he and Ziva were telepathic, or married, by the way she instantly moved closer to me as he backed off. It was as if he knew she wanted to talk to be but he would not be welcome. When he completely left the room, I turned to look at her. To find her watching me with a fond look in her eyes. Brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes, she jumped though. Seeing as I was wearing more make-up. This one was hiding a series of paw prints which worked from my hairline down and over my ear to the back of my neck where it molded into the tattoo on the other side of a roaring lion. She soon went back to the way she was though, and it made me slightly relax when she didn't react.

"Does Gibbs know about your file?" She whispered, as I leaned into her to listen.

"No, he doesn't know anything about my allegations just yet."

"He will found out, as part of the investigation."

Investigation? Of course, I yelled at myself, a Major in the United States Military was dead and I was the only one around at the time. I had completely forgotten about his death until just now. And now, it bothered me. If Abba was as good as his records say he is, than I was in for trouble. I had no idea how he reacted to bending the rules, but it could not go to the extent that I needed. Biting my lip nervously, I shivered when Ziva touched my hair. Taking it completely down, she ran her hand through it in a calming way. I had more to worry about than just the file though.

"Is there a chance I'll be sent back to Israel?"

"Why would you be?" She responded.

"Ziva, tell me something first. Where are your loyalties? To your country's people, or to Abba?"

Giving me a confused look, she gently shifted me to lay fully against her. Abba had moved upstairs with Tony, giving us the downstairs together. Running her hand over my arm, she gently brought me into a hug. But, she froze when seeing what was on my collar. A spot of blood. Not the type which come if I itched myself raw over my overly sensitive skin. But, the type which came from splatter. Pulling away at once before she had chance to really look at it, I scolded myself for being so reckless. Her eyes changed slightly before she let out a single nod. Just as she did so, Tony came back down with towels and a pair of fluffy socks to use. He paused seeing Ziva looking as she did, but soon handed me the towels. Nodding to both, I quickly stood up and limped to the bathroom after he told me where it was. Only when the door was firmly locked and closed did I relax once more, with a sigh.

"I've got to clean up my mess." I mumbled, my accent now turning to be the American one.

First, get the blood and any other evidence off of me. Focusing only on the steps needed to be done instead of what could happen if I was caught. It had been too close with Ziva, I had let my guard down too much. Stripping completely nude, I looked in the bags Ziva gave me to find a set of shampoo and conditioner as well as a bar of soup. They were all completely natural, making it a little less than ideal. A master's degree in biology and a one year degree in chemistry were now starting to pay off. Looking around the cupboards, I found rubbing alcohol, peppermint oil, and foam shaving gel for women. Perfect. Turning on the shower head, I looked around the bathroom. A poof would be too easy to test again, cloth could be found and easily swabbed, and anything could catch under my nails. Unless . . . that would work the best. Rummaging in the shelf, I drew out a rubber mat used for what I thought was woodworking. Setting that down in the shower with a little effort, I drew out a rag that was torn and seemed to have been cut with a knife. Careful not to brush up against anything, I took it out as well.

With a thin layer of gauze around the walls of the shower to make sure nothing touched me, I finally stepped into the shower. Adding a fair amount of rubbing alcohol to the cloth, I covered my entire body in the foul smelling substance. Being careful to rub it over my collar area as well as any area of my hands and feet. It burned as if my skin was bubbling up, but a sigh came when dried blood started to come out of some of my pours from the warm water having to open them up. Applying it a second time, nothing more came out, telling me I was done. Throwing the cloth into the bottom of the tub, my feet were able to tear it into enough pieces for it to be flushed down the drain with the water. Taking the peppermint oil, I splashed it over my entire body, carefully avoiding my leg. It seemed to have been mixed with regular olive oil by Ziva so it would not burn my skin, thankfully. Once my entire body was covered in the oil and smelling better, I grabbed the shaving crème. Now was just the process of making the tests so confused they did not find anything. My body was still coated from the laser and heat treatments the Major made me take to stop any hair from growing in any other place but my head, making it so even the crème was unneeded. But, I was not using it for the ability to clear hair, but for the chemicals in it. Running a disposable razor against all of it to destroy anything left over, I splashed on another layer of peppermint to soothe the purposeful razor burn. Once that was done with, I moved to the shampoo and conditioner. Washing my hair over five times, I sighed in relief when everything was done. Not everything, but enough for the shower.

Carefully avoiding moving too much so my head would not be jostled too much by anything else, I washed off the mat with the alcohol and peppermint oil and tore up the plastic into small enough chunks for it to be washed down the drain. Putting everything back in the exact place with a towel to make sure any part of it would not show I was actually using it. Looking back through the cupboard, I grabbed the shears off the table and looked at my hair. Easily braiding it back, I winced when it went well down past my bottom. Being trained as a hair dresser as part of a cover for a mission, I easily was able to cut my hair to look better. Cutting it to the end of my shoulder blades, I cut my bangs to the side instead of the long peek-a-boo bangs I was stuck with. Making it so they held easily to the side of my head instead of directly in my face. Almost at once, the flames started to fluff out to be ringlets. Cutting my claw like nails to be a little over my fingers, I looked to the rest of my body. My teeth. That needed to be fixed at once. Removing the plates in them, I smiled brightly to find they were white now. It was the last layer, which the Major forced me to use since it got rid of any trace of accent and made it harder for me to talk in Hebrew. Looking down at the plates, I covered them in rubbing alcohol as well before tooth paste then putting them on the pile with my now disinfected old clothes. With all of that done, I looked to my eyes. Removing the bright green contacts happily, I blinked at the golden and dark brown eyes shining back at me. Also disinfecting the contacts, they went into the pile as well for evidence.

By the time I was done with everything, my head was pounding and my ankle felt as if it was on fire. I almost had overdone it. Changing quickly into a shirt with a roaring lion on the front and sweats with little paw prints on them, I fluffed out my hair again. The orange and brown, as well as pink, reflected wonderfully off of my eyes, causing a faint smile. Looking to the clock slightly, I realized I had been in here over an hour. They probably thought I was just enjoying the shower for the first time in a long time. Maybe next time I would actually enjoy it. I hated the crutches, making it so I gathered up everything and started to limp out of the room. To find Abba waiting against a doorway. Smiling gently, he came over and took my arm.

"Does this mean I'm now bedridden?" I asked, though feeling quite relaxed over it. Handing him the close, I had to giggle at his slightly confused look. "Evidence, this was all I wore then."

"Tiger, you don't have to worry about the case tonight. We'll take care of it for you, just relax."

"Wouldn't it just be better to get it out of the way so I can relax and try to heal from it?"  
Using my depression against him was something I was fine with at the moment, until he really showed his true colors. Anyone could be this nice and caring for me. It was an easy act to pass, one I did multiple times in my short life. Nodding slightly to my idea, he started to lead me to the other room.

"Do you mind if we just go over what happened tonight?" He asked.

"As in you just ask me the questions about what happened, you check my injuries and claims from the previous reports, and gain the information from my file?" I asked, though knowing the answer.

"We'll need a sample of your hair, a piece of your skin, and a DNA swab as well. Though you have the basic idea down. Just answer the questions, and tell me if it gets too much." He answered.

Nodding to show I understood what would happen, I let him lead me into the room I would be using for tonight. I really didn't pay much attention to it since there were three people sitting on the bed closest to the door. Tony, Ziva, and then there was another. A young woman wearing black clothes with an expressive face framed by two pigtails in black hair. She had some tattoos as well, but not as open as mine, as well as wearing a very revealing skirt and a low-cut shirt. Yet, she seemed perfectly at ease with these two. A bag was at her feet, with what I assumed would be the needed things to gather a DNA test. She was a member of the team? Turning to Abba, he nodded and smiled at me.

"Lavi, this is Abby, she's the Forensic Analyst. I called her to help get you situated." He told me.

"Hi!" Abby exclaimed, her voice high but yet not overly so.

Before I could even respond, she was on her feet and bouncing over to me. Wrapping her arms around me, she somehow lifted me up to balance on her shoes. Squeezing me tighter, she started to cut off my air supply. A sharp pain suddenly came to my chest, as a slight popping noise came. It was suddenly hard to draw in a full breath, causing me to know at once what was going on. My rib had just been broken a few days ago, and such a strong hug had hurt it once more. Gasping out in pain, I stumbled back as she let me go with a look of worry. Leaning heavily against the desk, I gasped for air.

"Kitty?" Tony asked, as he stood up.

"Two ribs were broken three days ago, puncturing a lung. They were doing fine until then." I rasped out, a burning rising in my chest while my throat burned.

A weathered but soft hand stroked over my back as Abba stood beside me. Did he know sign language? There was a good chance he did from where he had traveled over the world, making it so I could tell him what I needed. Raising my hand weakly as everything felt like lead, I signed_**. **_**I-n-h-a-l-e-r.**

Much to my surprise, Abby was the one to stand up. Grabbing my bag of medications off the table, she rummaged inside of it to find my inhaler. Running over, she handed it to Abba, who gently brought it up to my lips. Taking a few deep breaths of the ice cold air, I went slightly limp when the sharp, glass-like air hit my chest and lungs. After a few nights of staying there with my eyes closed, the pain ebbed and I was able to take breathes without any issue. Blinking slightly to clear the black dots in front of my eyes, I looked up to find they were all looking at me worriedly. With a weak step, I stumbled to the bed in the far corner and sat down on it. Lowering my head to my knees, I started to softly breathe in a very repetitive form. I was taught this technique years ago, just in the case someone would harm my ribs and lungs after another injury. Such as torture. At least my bag had been in the car, making it so there was no evidence on it either. Focusing on that good though, I let my chest pain vanish again. When I looked up again, it was to Abba and Tony sitting across from me while the girls hung back slightly. Looking to Abby, I saw she was close to crying. Ziva, who had left the room, came back in with a bottle of water, handing it to me very carefully.

"Do you really want to go through with this, kitten? You can just rest tonight." Abba asked.

"I'm fine, really, I am. I just want to get it all over with so I can relax." I answered.

And that is a benefit to having a mind half gone; I always sound confident even though I was getting ready to break out in tears. Trembles started to slowly take over my hand as I took a deep breath. As long as I kept to the story, as long as I played myself as a helpless victim of a crime, and as long as I let them see me for a weakened child, I would be alright. They would take pity on me while getting rid of a man I hate. That would be the best option. Kill two birds with one stone: I would be cleared of any charges, and the man who killed my only true love would be locked in a cell for life. Now came the part of actually lying to three trained agents. Sitting back against the bed, I took a deep breath as Abba took out a notebook and Tony a recorder.


	5. Observations

_**Point of View of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo **_

Glancing over at Dad, I couldn't help but tense seeing the regret hanging in his eyes as he gripped at the pen as if it was a rifle. He thought this was his fault, he really thought Kat being forced to live with the Major was his fault. I still remembered the day the little girl went missing. When he came to work actually fighting back tears and told me to meet him at night for our first cowboy steak dinner. It was painfully obvious this girl had been through hell and back. It was noticeable in the call girl uniform that she was skinny, but looking at Kat in actual clothes, it was terrifying. She was literally a flesh bag of bones. I swore I could see her bones when she shifted to give Ziva room beside her. Comparing to the two girls side by side brought out the details even more. Both had the same exotic beauty, and a deadly allure over them. However, with Kat, it was hidden behind what had to be years of neglect. Her eyes were bright and glittering in the light, but they were fogged over slightly. The way eyes got in those people who had fallen so far. She had been a soldier of Shin Bet, I knew that much, meaning she would be trained to be even more vicious than the woman now running her hand over the flame hair. Yet, she didn't look as if she could kill a fly at the moment. There was a weakness in her body language, a very closed off form. And a tensing of her hand on her knee I recognized from her cousin. This girl would have been a prom queen, cheerleader, and top of her class. But now, sitting on the bed, she was a victim. She looked as if she had been alive during the camps that took her great grandmother. The same hopelessness and the way it seemed she thought she was alone in the world. I expected any moment for her to seriously start looking around for a gas chamber, she was that skittish.

Looking closely at her body though, I knew she was not completely terrified. Her hand was clamped on her knee, in a pose that could easily be turned to deflect any weapon should the need ever come. She had her legs crossed as well, her injured one on top of her good one, but slightly off to the side. The way you had to sit with a sidearm on a leg holster. Years of being a cop meant I had seen hundreds of the officers wearing weapon belts, and the way they caused an odd posture. Sitting straight up, but slightly off balance since the main weapons were on the dominate hand side. She was leaning slightly to her left. Left handed, that would explain why her right hand was the one tensing. The weaker hand to protect her face and the stronger one to fight. The stronger hand was now playing with a seam on her sweats. She had to keep moving, I realized, by the way she was nibbling on her lip slightly as well. It was not an attention issue, her eyes were straight on the recorder constantly. It was almost as if she was testing boundaries. As if she was so used to the thick chains she thought they would forever fallow her. Just for her to be testing the movement she had meant she thought some of her treatment was wrong. Something I knew all too well most children abused would not realize unless told harshly.

There was a special expressiveness to her as well. Something I rarely saw on anyone but the Gibbs family. She had that way of speaking without needing to open her mouth. The way she was sitting overall seemed to be one of exposing herself. Which wouldn't make any sense with her being a call girl by force. She should want to close herself off, unless distracting from something else. Her eyes beyond shining were also darkened, the type of dark which came with her cousin when he was interrogating others. A shield as I started to call it. She was making sure no one would be able to see past the outside. Then there was the way she was acting to Abby. Of all people for her to be guarded to, she picked Abs. I seemed to be getting the full show, Ziva had her leaning on her chest in an exposed way, while Dad was able get her full attention with just a shift. But, Abby, she kept Abs in eye length but never directly looked at her. As if she was a gun laying on a table. She was threatened by Abs, I could see that when the perky Goth reached out for my arm, she actually tensed. Why so afraid? She was hiding something, something deep and powerful. These questions were going to give us nothing but bull.

"Why don't you start by telling us what happened today?" Ziva asked, stroking her hair softly.

Here was the chance for her to lie. She was prepared to before now, that was blatant by the way she looked to all of us first. Not to mention her hand going to her collar so we were drawn to look there.

"I was sleeping from about five in the morning to noon today, after a late night show. He made me dance for a group of three people last night before they all headed home. When I woke, it was to the sound of screaming. I tried to run out of the room, with the chain around my ankle and fell. To find him being beaten with a baseball bat. When I yelled in Hebrew for it to stop, the man fled leaving the Major alone. I skidded into the kitchen to help him." She retold rolling her back and pelvis slightly.

Really? I could believe he made her dance sometimes, but I could not believe what I heard. He had taken pictures of her nude before, wearing various outfits even I found too inappropriate for any woman to be wearing. During those, she had various bruises and broken bones. Not to mention she was pregnant for the needed time for some of them. He had done a lot more to her than just made her dance. By the bruises now starting to heal on her full body, she had been through a lot lately. The Major was beaten so many times he literally looked to be just a mass of yuck. There was no way she wouldn't have heard it. She would have had to be trained to wake up on moment's notice from what I saw of the bruises on her thighs in most pictures. There was no way in hell she had yelled at for the attacker to stop. That bastard had hurt her more ways than she wanted to admit. Could she just be faking what happened to hide a recent attack? It seemed likely.

"Can you describe what the man looked like?" Dad asked, being as gentle as he could be now.

A flame seemed to light up in her eyes as she ran her tongue over her teeth. In a very cat-like way. Her hand came back to her knee, but was now tracing small letters. She had just been given the chance to lie out her butt. Tell us she had no idea what was happened. But, somehow, I knew that would not happen. There was a hatred in her face now, hidden to a point. Straightening a little more, she swallowed as if she was upset. Getting both of the others to start to calm her. I didn't move though, knowing that swallow was fake. She was ready to cry, just not for the reason we thought. Her tears were manipulative, the type I had used to get my way with my mother for years.

"About thirty or forty years of age with slightly greying beard and a buzz-cut hair style. He was six foot five and around two hundred pounds. He wore cotton and cargo pants, with a large deer antler dagger on his leather belt. His eyes were dark brown, and were slightly almond shaped." She reported.

Amazing. A miracle. The doctor who treated her as a child said her brain, the part destroyed, dealt with memory. Which meant, either this girl had a photographic memory she was trained to use after the accident or she was making it up. Yet, the description was so strong, as if she knew the man. It did not help her voice had turned to a bitter growl at the end. She hated this person, but not for killing the man who hurt her. Looking to the others, I saw they were all believing her completely. They didn't know how far the abuse spread. Ziva may have seen the file of the report she wrote up, but no one had seen the photos. I had those locked away in my personal bag, after finding out she was Lavi. Dad would just go ballistic, Abby would break down or smother her, Ziva would be murderous, Tim would be awkward, and the Autopsy Gremlin with Duckman would use psychology on her. None of which I thought would help out. I would just keep them on me until she decided to tell me the truth. Or the truth was coaxed out of her. But, first, I had to find out who this man was, if he was someone she knew.

"Kitten, we're going to have to take some samples now." Dad said, though softly.

There was a little too much eagerness in her nod. Holding out her hands without hesitation, she also brought forward her hair for Abby. Just out of the shower. Hm. Looking to them, I briefly cleared my throat, making it sound as if I was coughing. Standing up with a nod for them to continue, I made my way to the bathroom. Opening up the door, I was greeted at once by a sharp scent that made me gag. It was bitter, the type that came with chemicals. It mixed with some type of fruit and peppermint too, strange. There was no type of shampoo that smelled like it. The sink smelled the worse of it, making me look to it. To find it was clean. Save for a flash of red on the faucet. Pulling on a pair of gloves in my pocket, I pulled off a strand of her hair. She had cut it too? Why the hell would you do that if you knew about police procedures? Granted, it was bloodstained and dirty, but still. Grabbing the scissors, I found they were actually rusting already. I had used them this morning to clip off a grey hair, not rusting.

Smelling them carefully, I found they had the same stank over them. As did the floor, the counter, and oddly enough, the junk cabinet under the sink. Going on my hands and knees, I opened up the doors to find the mats we used whenever my car decided to turn into an old Ashton Martin. We normally didn't wash either of them in any way, just wiped them over with a cloth. That cloth itself was missing too. Looking to the mats, bubbles started to come on my hand, over the cut I had from the boat. Hydrogen Peroxide, rubbing alcohol. Why would that be on mats? The alcohol was kept in the shelf with the . . . oh duh. With the peppermint and shaving crème. The bottle of crème was slightly wet, cold water leaving a ring on the counter. The three smells together were enough to cancel out anything else, but there was something else. That something the smell of muddy, old water.

Strolling around the room slowly, I jumped when the drain started to actually bubble. Dad kept everything in perfect working order, especially with my health and how susceptible I was to illness on the field. He tried to make the house safe for me to be in for a while to heal from any illness, which meant plumbing as well. Taking a knife out of my pocket, I walked over to the tub and kneeled down on the side. Opening up the drain easily, I stabbed my knife into it while chocking back the gross air. As a lump of stuff came out. Scientific, but seriously, it looked to be something out of the background of Frankenstein, just bubbling randomly. Taking out a napkin, I sat it on there, as I coughed into my sleeve.

Plastic wrap was mixed around dried blood, fallen pieces of red hair from Kat, shaving crème, peppermint oil, rubbing alcohol bubbling over the blood stuck to her hair, small pieces of skin from what I thought was scabs, and oddly enough, the rubber from the mat. Setting aside the tweezers, I looked to the rest of the mass. To find nail pieces and the hair she had cut. Picking up the nails, I saw tried blood under them, as well as skin chunks from someone else, with a lighter skin tone than Kat's. Looking back at the tub, I walked over and stood on my tip toes, to the area she would not have been able to check. To find a piece of torn plastic wrap dangling off the railing. She had covered the bath tub with the plastic, and had the mat on the ground by the way a few fraying pieces were stuck to the traction from the tub itself. This was just strange.

Sitting down on the toilet seat, I looked around the room. She had covered the tub, taken a shower, and then cut her nails and hair for some reason. But, why the strong scent of alcohol? Unless . . . no, she wouldn't bathe in the alcohol. Or would she? Remembering an old trick Abs taught when Kate was still around, I jogged down to the living room to grab my own bag. Taking out the black light, I went back to the room. To turn off the lights and just turn it on. To find the bath tub, sink, and floor lit up like a tree light at Christmas. She had been covered in blood or other natural materials. Oddly enough, it was slightly diluted, with what I thought was the alcohol. She thought it would be strong enough to destroy the blood by just leaving it. To destroy it, she had to physically scrub it off, something she didn't bother to do. Grabbing the baking soda out of the cupboard, I splashed that on the tub, to cause it to start to dissolve visibly to find there was still a lot of the alcohol around the tub. In the shape of a human. She had bathed in it. Something sharp caught my eye, reflecting in the drain. Taking out a magnet I kept to find loss tie pins and cufflinks, I stuck it down there. To bring out a portion of a razor. Covered in just crème and no hair. I had found Nair bottles and a laser treatment at the apartment which had residue around Lavi and her space in the bathroom. There was no reason to use this, unless she was trying to destroy her skin from evidence. She had smashed the razor in some way, leaving behind only these touches behind. Either she was very paranoid, or she was hiding something.

Knowing it would be the second of the options, I cleaned up what little I had left behind and walked back to the bedroom. To find them sitting together as she was now propped up against the foot of the bed, happily talking to Dad while he stroked her hair. Ziva turned to me at once, a slight look of worry in her face. Walking over as they all turned, I sat down on the bed and gently kissed Kat's head. She had the same scent in her hair as the hair in the sink did, of alcohol. She tensed though, seeing the crème on my hand. I expected her to yell, to scream at me then. Instead, her lips tilted back. Into a mask of hatred. She knew I knew she was hiding something, and was now going to defend herself.

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**Author Note: **Another week of updates done. Yippee! Anyway, I know this chapter is a little short, but I wanted to split it in half. The next will be the result of Tony's observations. And before anyone comments on it, yes, Gibbs does know she is hiding something, that will also come up in the next chapter. I wanted to bring up a point on chapter three. Her family's past with the camps was taken from true information. There was a camp, by the name I used, that only one person survived. The actual words she says about the Nazi party, were taken from a program on PBS about the survivors of the camps, where I learned about the Miami Memorial and the statue that really does exist there. Her views on the war will come up later in the story, to a very frightening extent. Also, Ziva will play a major part in it as will Jen. They are just waiting at the moment while Tony starts to break down the lion for someone else. On one last note, the last sentence in this chapter came from an odd quote from a funny book I no longer remember. It went along the lines of 'I knew he knew I knew he was a spy. He also knew I knew he was now planning my death', one I thought would be fitting for this since the look I picture Kat having given him would be a murderous one such as her cousin gets at times.

Thank you all for reading and the ones who have reviewed.


	6. New Story Imput Needed

**Author Note: I'm sorry for not posting another chapter in a while, but I have hit a bad case of writer's block and seemed to have confused myself on Kat's history. So, I spent my time writing a new story idea for NCIS. This one I figured would be about an old soldier Gibbs knew who was killed in a gruesome crime. Making Gibbs take on the soldier's daughter, who is Jethro's goddaughter. This is just the introduction, but I wanted to see what you all think. Just to let you know, this takes place exactly one day before Shannon and Kelly are killed, and the girl's future name is because of that. Just to let you all now, I don't know anything about the Gulf War, my father having served in the time of Vietnam instead. Making it so I imaged what the landscape would be like from what little I found on Google. If it is wrong, I am sorry and would like correction before I think about publishing this as a full story. Thanks :] **After publishing, I realized one thing through way of a review that I should put here. I am not going to add this to this story. This is going to be completely different, but I am posting it here just to get opinions on it.** Thanks :]**

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_**Somewhere Lost in Kuwait during the Gulf War aka Operation Desert Storm, February 27**__**th**__**, 1991 **_

As an artillery shell exploded inches away from the built up sand dune, the shock wave easily visible in the pale yellow sand. Palm trees as green as emeralds swayed softly in response, making no other indication of knowing of the war exploding upon their land. The pure aquamarine ocean lapped waves upon the sandy shores, though it could not been seen nor heard from the area of the explosion. Not even the smell of the ocean reached to this sight, being cancelled out by revolting, memorable smells of burning metal, searing off the bone flesh, and the metallic scent of blood. No birds sang in the clear blue sky, no children laughed among the sand-colored buildings, not even a dog could be heard barking. But, it was far from silent. Screams rose through the landscape piercing to the heavens with cries for relief against the pain, the all too familiar rattling of machine guns drowning out those final screams of the ones laying strewn across the ground, a whoosh as another grenade launcher went off, yelling in a dialect of Hebrew once used for sacred texts and now used to bring shivers down the spines of those listening, and the shattering noise of a shell exploding upon hitting the ground.

A once vibrant, peaceful, water side country boarding the Arabian Peninsula had been turned to a living hell in a matter of mere months. Bodies, of men no older than their forties were piled upon the barely noticeable sidewalks, flags shining on the camouflage-covered arms. Marking them as nationals to eight and more countries, all ranging from the United States and United Kingdom to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. Young men from countries across the world now having their final resting places side by side. Their pale, lifeless faces contorted into looks of pure agony. The looks mirrored by those still breathing just miles beyond. Blood coated nearly every possible landscape; the gates to a yard in which a family may once have played in, splashed upon the door of a family owned textile business, and splattered in a sticking pattern to the windows of a schoolhouse. Areas of peace where the innocent once lived their lives in happiness now marked by the horrors of open war. Rubble of ash and beams rusting already from the sea water piled upon the streets, blocking the paths of both sides' tanks. Articles of clothing, cushions from sofas, and school books thrown wildly around the streets, gathered up by the breezes and shock waves before being thrown into the oceans. Windows to family homes owned for generations were splayed against the doorways, the glass becoming mirrors to reflect just how much it changed. Nature itself seemed to be unfretted, but the humans of the land, knew better.

Throwing himself bodily against the ground to avoid being thrown down as yet another shell exploded, Rifleman Finn Slyfox stifled a cry as his bleeding leg hit against the burning sand. Rolling himself over as the camouflage of his uniform bundled, he sat his well-worn rifle against his shoulder, using the bandages stump which once had his hand on top of to hold the hilt in place. Running his only hand against his slightly bent leg, a wince came seeing the dagger wound swept fully down to the bone, ripping away the skin with the savagery of human teeth; jagged edges of tendons and muscles showing through. A vein bleed over the greenish-black skin of his leg, covered only by the fabric he had torn off of his shirt with his own teeth. Tying the binding tighter, he brought his darkened green eyes over the landscape before him, blowing a strand of blood-matted red hair out of his face. Only eighteen years old, the child fought to see some reason within the scene before him. The only he could find coming from the body lying inches away from him. A turban sprawled on the sand, while a launcher laid lip next to an olive-colored hand. The same dagger which had destroyed his hand and leg now plunged deeply into the man's chest. It was killed or be killed here, Slyfox reminded himself as he gripped his rifle in his hand for dear life.

Searching desperately over the sand, his eyes caught a dark tent barely flapping over the horizon. The tent holding his CO and company. If he could only make it that far, he would be safe. And then he could finally get the aid he needed to see his new wife. One hell of honeymoon, he bitterly thought as he dodged a bullet coming from a truck passing by. Australian soldiers easily came out of the sand, meeting the truck with their glinting rifles in the light.

Now was the time to go! His instincts screamed at his sore, aching, and trembling body to try to run, to try to get as far away as he could while the assault was being countered by his allies. Sending all effort still left within him, he threw his one hand over the dune and started to crawl. Screams rose from behind him as the sound of physical combat started to echo around him. A thick layer of sweat covered his body, mixing with the blood to cause him to slip even on the gritty texture of the sand. Biting on the ash covered inside of his lip, he dug his boots into the sand, using his elbow to push himself forward. The rifle was now tucked within his teeth, damned if he would let it go unless he was dead. Letting his tired, swimming eyes focus only on the little green tent, he felt his muscles ripple in pain as he pushed himself over another length of his body. They never taught this at Parris, came the thought. They never taught you how to not pull out the shrapnel imbedded into your tear duct of your left eye, never even mentioned how the hell to fire a gun when your hand was blown off with just the nerves still hanging out, and they definitely never said what to do when gangrene had come over your knee. Compared to this, the Crucible seemed to be a party. Thinking back to the camp, he pushed himself another length.

Not even getting another length, he was stopped by a thick, burning, sand filled wooden boot slamming itself into the area of gangrene had had cut out of his own leg. Screaming out in pain, he spun around helplessly on his back. To be met with a sigh which made his blood run cold and hair stand up on his neck. Standing above him with a high caliber machine gun was a Taliban agent. All but his gleaming grey eyes shielded by a blood-soaked turban. Holding the gun, he pointed it down on the rifleman, the near burning steel touching Slyfox's exposed chest. His rifle now lay on the ground just out of hand's reach, something made all the more hard when the agent brought his boot upon the useful hand. Desperately fighting with his one good leg, he whimpered in pain when the muzzle of the gun was shoved against his chin. A distinct popping sound came with a burning as his jaw slid outward. Unable to scream, and unwilling to give his murderer the satisfaction of hearing him scream, he stared into the eyes of the man who would take him away from his wife. Clutching his ring tightly in his hand, he kept his eyes trained on those of the man who would kill him. Knowing the man would never forget them.

Taking in a single breath, he went completely limp as the safety was taken off. An olive colored finger stretched around the trigger, blood covering the digit. Slyfox's heart thundered within his chest, louder than any clock he had ever heard. Each beat counting off a second closer to his death. Listening as the weakest one came, a hiss came to his voice as the man put slight pressure on the trigger. Only to never fire it. Just as his hand closed, another shot rang out. Loud and obviously from a service pistol. A bullet tore through the turban and skull, blasting out glass-like pieces of skill with the gelatin like brain matter, soaking Slyfox with blood and impaling his skin with the bone. Turning slightly while avoiding the brown piece of shrapnel in his eye, he froze seeing the figure mere inches behind the man who had fallen tot eh ground. His Commanding Officer stood with the gun in both hands, his electric blue eyes shining in the light. Without saying a word, the Gunnery Sargent ran over and placed his calloused hands around his younger charge, hoisting him to sit up slightly.

"Gibbs." Slyfox managed out, his voice coming off as weak and shaking.

The pain was becoming worse, as the bruises on his chest became even darker. A piece of the bone was sticking directly through one of the bruises impaled itself upon the circular impression of a rib sticking through his chest. He found himself unable to take a full breath without chocking up blood. His entire body shook now with effort it took merely to breathe and lean against his CO. Made even worse when the man lifted him up by his shoulders to sling him over his CO's shoulders. Taking a deep breath, the Gunny wrapped his arm around the younger man's.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," His gruff voice started to become thicker.

Only for him to be unable to follow the orders. His eyes fully closed while his body went limp one last time. The blood pouring over both now felt like cotton on his skin, and the touch of his CO ghost like. He could no longer hear the sounds of war, only a peaceful silence. The heat even vanished from around him, as he felt just a strange coldness. As the pain of all died away, he slipped into oblivion.

Time seemed to pass without real consciousness behind it as Slyfox drifted in a peaceful state of oblivion. Images of war were now replaced with memories of his childhood; running through the moors, chasing after the sheep, and visiting the Trinity College library. His homeland of Ireland shone brightly within his mind, as he wandered on the cliffs, taking in the familiar cold sea once more. Seagulls made a deep melody as they flew overhead, mixing with the crashing of water upon the jagged rocks below. Thick green pastures as not found in Kuwait shone behind him, though no one was nearby. There was nothing there, he realized, as he picked up a stone from the ground. Only when he did so did he feel something. There was a rope of sorts attached to his arm, as a pinprick of a needle came to his veins. He could feel nothing from his wrist downward, and his other arm felt oddly asleep. As he tried to move his hand, he became aware of a noise over the rushing of the sea; a beeping. It matched his heart per beat, and as he listened, the other sounds faded once again. As he focused upon it, the landscape slowly left him. Leaving him in the darkness he was in when he had first fallen.

Slowly, as it could have been minutes or hours, he became aware of lying in a cloth cot. His head was being propped by a gritty, thick pillow, one with stitching so pronounced he thought it was made from a duffel bag. A thin military issued blanket was placed loosely around his body, folded down by his chest. The needle, he realized, was indeed in his left arm. Slightly below it was a thick layer of bandages and goo-feeling blood. He could feel nothing pass it, though now he knew why. His leg had the same feeling to it, only from his knee below there was nothing. The realization came to him with the force of a train; he had lost both limbs. He did to have long to linger on the question though, as he became aware of two calloused hands gently holding his own one. Where was he? No member of the Taliban would take him in and care for him as they were; his jaw even properly placed now. Let alone be holding his hand on his beside. Focusing on the thoughts, he tried desperately to open his eyes.

Even though his body felt as if it was made from pudding and gelatin, he drove himself to open up his eyes. Finally, after what seemed to be a month, he felt them start to flutter open. Pressing them further, he was able to look through his lashes. To be greeted by the familiar blue eyes of Gunnery Sargent Gibbs, his CO. The man was sitting beside the small cot set up in the corner of an airplane, not even strapped in as he held Slyfox's hand. Smirking faintly seeing the man awake, he brought a bottle of water up to parched lips. Gulping it in as if it was the best tasting drink the world, Slyfox looked to his CO, before looking down at his own body. He was without an arm on his left, and without a leg on his right, all before he turned twenty-one.

"We're taking you to DC, where your wife is waiting for you. Saoirse, right?" Gibbs asked.

"She knows?" He gasped out, his voice weakened and sounding much too frail.

"I let her know what had happened. She screamed at me in Gaelic."

A weak chuckle managed to escape, knowing his fiery Irish wife would have yelled at the President if he had called about this. Managing another sip, he laid back in relief against the bed. He was going home, he was not in that hellhole any longer. However, one thing did keep him from being completely relaxed . . .

"Boss, why are you here?" He mumbled out, trying to sound more polite than it was.

"Leave." He replied, before shifting to show his one arm was bound in a sling, "Bastards got off a good shot with a knife hilt. They want me to be checked out for any internal damage. And I refused to leave your side."

"You saved my life, even after being attacked and wounded."

"We never leave any behind."

With that, he turned to face something in the corner of the plane. Looking over himself, Slyfox let out a gasp. Coffins lined the inside, with the names of those he had seen piled within the streets. Over ten were all Marines, with him being the only one lying down actually breathing. It was real. Never before had he thought he would be buried in one, but now, he realized how close he had been. All because his boss had come to his rescue was he still alive. He could have been going home in a box.

"Boss, my wife and I have been thinking about having a child after this all ends." He brought up.

"Wait until you're out of the service, it's not worth it now." Came the very knowledgeable reply.

'That was our idea, wait. If you don't mind me asking, is it alright if I were to name my children after you? After all, I wouldn't have any if you didn't bring me out of there."

"No girl's going to want my name. Try Shannon."

"You're letting me name my child after your wife?"

"That's what keeps me going, and what will keep you still alive after the war. You've got your entire life ahead of you. Without most of your body. You'll need to have a ray of sunshine just to stay from hanging yourself. And let me know when she's going to come into this world."

"Hope you're ready for a goddaughter."

With that said, and as images of a red haired, blue eyed mirror image of his wife, Slyfox let his head fall back onto the pillows as his eyes slowly shut. Shannon Jethra Kelly Slyfox, it had a nice ring to it, he mused. And he could think of no other person he would want for his daughter to be guarded by than the one now guarding him. Letting himself fall back asleep, he no longer cared of the missing limbs or war, he had something more important to worry about; family.


End file.
